


The Walk

by Funkspiel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gramander, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, mention of suicidal thoughts, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: Graves scoffs and tries to remember how his lonely evening walks had somehow become a tradition he shared with the wispy Magizoologist. A ritual that had somehow bloomed seemingly from nothing. One day, Newt was just there – and had been ever since.





	The Walk

_“His hair has gone grey. He passes every day.  
They say he walks the length of the city…_

_He is working through the unimaginable.”_

_\- Hamilton, Quiet Uptown_

 

It’s fall and the leaves are dying. They brush against the polished shine of his shoes, fragile beneath his feet – brittle. He feels brittle, too. Dry and used and wasting away.

Graves’ knee plaques him. They tell him it won’t ever fully heal. He grips the walking cane a little tighter. His wand is in its center, unrecognizable. An anchor meant to help him feel less crippled. Regal and ornate like every other part of his well designed mask. A symbol of power and wealth. Like his opulent coat and his freshly pressed suits and the shoes he still shines even though he has no job to wear them to. 

Armor that has no use.

Every morning, he goes about dressing himself as if nothing happened; too afraid to stop. And every evening, he winds up here – in Central Park.

He feels thin, like water spread across a wide floor, ever spreading further and further apart from itself.

His knee gives. He grits his teeth, his breath a great and angry plume in front of his face. He breathes and the feeling passes.

He watches a group of children chase each other, hears their laughter and feels a pang for the life he’s missed.

The wind bites deeper than his coat can stand and he remembers a time he didn’t used to feel so cold so easily. He stumbles, teeth already bared to curse. He seethes. His knee pops cruelly. He dips. No one notices, _no one notices_ –

– And then there is a hand at his elbow, not holding him up but rather entwining with his until he is elbow to elbow with a familiar blue coat. Scarred hands and pleasant eyes, happy to see him. Smiling. Wrinkles from his laugh lines – so unlike his own. 

Graves’ wrinkles don’t seem to go away, lately.

“I can’t believe you started without me! I almost missed out on the best park of the walk!” Newt says cheerfully, cheeks rosy from running and from the chill.

Graves scoffs and tries to remember how his lonely evening walks had somehow become a tradition he shared with the wispy Magizoologist. A ritual that had somehow bloomed seemingly from nothing. One day, Newt was just there – and had been ever since.

“You hardly missed anything, Scamander. You accomplished in mere seconds what took me minutes to do. You could go walk it again and catch up with me without missing a beat.”

Newt falls into step with him, unhurried. Content to meander not because Graves cannot move faster, but because he genuinely seems to enjoy slowing down this aspect of his day. To breathe.

Newt tucks his chin and smiles as though he knows something Graves does not.

“It’s not the park I was afraid I’d miss,” Newt says, friendly, and begins to chatter as he always does. And calmly, Graves listens. Queenie and Tina had warned him once to be patient with the man. Something about him being a bit of an odd duck – just as quick to withdraw as he was to speak his mind. But Graves found that Newt had no trouble holding up a conversation. He spoke of his creatures quite liberally now that Graves had no power to reprimand him. He spoke of his book and his plans and his many adventures.

And despite himself, Graves finds it calming just to listen. Occasionally he engages. He asks about what creatures he has or how Newt came to acquire them; but generally he just listens, swept up in the robust passion of Newt’s words that made his own life feel thin and grey by comparison. Sometimes he just closes his eyes and lets Newt lead him - lost in the soft wonder of his voice.

He can’t help but be in awe of the sheer force of nature that is one Newton Artemis Fido Scamander.

The hand at his elbow grips him a little tighter, as though anticipating something exciting as they crest the same hill they always climb to catch the sunset they always watch. The trek leaves Graves aching and unable to catch his breath. His hand trembles fiercely on the grip of his cane, but he does not ever mention it and neither does Newt. Instead, Graves takes a deep, steadying breath and looks out at the view before them – caught as he is always caught by the sheer magnificence of oranges and purples and pinks against the dimming New York sky. He feels a little bit of the weight on his bones leave him, his body oddly light, and sighs.

“This was what I was afraid I’d miss,” Newt says softly.

“That’s the great thing about sunsets, Newt. They come back,” Graves says dryly, eyes sliding from his favorite view in the city to his companion to wryly tease him – and falls still. Newt is looking at him, smiling a little smile, and suddenly everything feels important. 

It’s then that Graves realizes that Newt had never been watching the sunset. Not this evening or the evening prior or the evening before that. He blinks, at a loss. He blames the cold on his rising flush and coughs to hide his stammer.

“An old man staring at the sky. Hardly a novel view.”

He refuses to look at the man even when Newt’s grip gets a little tighter.

“A brave man _choosing_ to see it once again,” Newt says, certain. “I think there’s more beauty in that than in a sunset that will come regardless.”

When Graves returns to the park the next day, it’s not for the sunset.

**Author's Note:**

> AXILARTS DREW A PRETTY SCENE FROM THIS AND ITS GORGEOUS - GO FEAST YOUR EYES ON IT:  
> https://axilarts.tumblr.com/post/160074580141/the-walk


End file.
